I was right about you
by LaughingSenselessly
Summary: AU: When Lydia and her boyfriend end up on the Kiss Cam at the Mets game they're attending, she finds herself turning to a certain golden-eyed stranger instead. NOW BY REQUEST WITH A PART TWO: THE DATE.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This one shot is inspired by this real life story: Apparently I can't link things here but if you're curious PM me and I can link you!** **Hope you enjoy, took a break from writing Witched to get this one out :P**

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"Jackson."

"Hm."

"Get me a diet Coke."

"I'm _busy_ , Lydia. Chill out."

"You're the one who wanted to take me to this stupid game in the first place," Lydia hissed at him venomously. Lydia did not deem this to be a good date. Her sometimes-boyfriend, Jackson, had acquired some tickets to a stupid Reds game and here they were, crammed in the stands with Lydia going out of her mind with boredom.

She glanced to her right. "Jackson," she snapped. He didn't even look up from his phone. "Would you mind explaining what exactly you're doing?"

"Lydia." He finally looked up from his phone. "If you want a diet Coke so much, get. It. Yourself." And then he went right back to it.

Lydia huffed and fell silent. Sometimes her relationship with Jackson felt a little shallow and contrived. They bickered like this all the time, which she'd always dismissed as little couple fights, but now that she was thinking about it, she couldn't even remember the last time they'd gotten along more than five minutes outside of sex…

"You want mine?"

Lydia turned to her left at the new voice, now taking in the stranger on that side of her that she'd been ignoring completely for the past half an hour.

He had dark brown hair tucked under a cap and tawny-coloured eyes to match, a gently sloping nose, and dark eyebrows currently hopefully arched up. His smile was a little lopsided but with unbridled enthusiasm, making his adorable cheekbones poke out of his face more prominently. Letting her eyes flicker down his form, she noted his scrawny looking frame. But then again the hands that were holding his unopened can of pop out to her were long-fingered and attractive.

He wasn't her usual type, but she could admit he was cute.

After thoroughly and without shame checking him out, she asked him plainly, "Is it diet?"

His smile fell slightly. "Oh. Um, it's regular Coke."

She rolled her eyes with great exaggeration. "Then _no_. Obviously." She turned away from his gaze. She was very used to men checking her out. She was beautiful, after all; she knew that. That didn't mean she had to encourage them.

Unfortunately, the man on her other side was still not paying any attention to her, even when she tugged at his arm ("just a _second_ , Lydia, Jesus.") and she was left leaning back and folding her arms.

She could still feel the stranger's eyes on her. "Who are you cheering for?" he asked tentatively. He had a nice voice. Kind of low, raspy in a good way.

She considered ignoring him. But he sounded harmless, and her creep radar wasn't going off, and she was bored as hell, and Jackson was a dick, so she responded.

"We're here for the Reds," she replied stiffly.

He gaped at her. "The Reds?"

His tone was most disapproving, and Lydia was a little miffed. "And you're cheering for…"

"The Mets," he exclaimed proudly, tipping his cap (which Lydia could now see the Mets insignia emblazoned on) and pointing at his blue and orange jersey. "I've been a fan since I was a little kid." Then he mumbled, "I thought I was right about you."

She heard him. "What do you mean, exactly?"

He looked stricken at being caught. "Well, I just thought, that since you're- you're really beautiful, and perfect, that you must cheer for the Mets. Because they're obviously the better team."

Lydia's eyebrows raised. "You've talked to me all of three minutes and you think I'm beautiful and perfect?" She'd gotten a lot of compliments in her life but...

He blushed spectacularly, colour tingeing his cheekbones pink. He was adorable, Lydia decided. "Y-yeah," he stammered, clutching his Coke can tightly. "I mean, not to sound like a creep or anything, but you _are_ beautiful," he said earnestly. "And I heard your laugh when you came in, and it was perfect."

She examined him, looking for signs of false flattery. But his eyes were wide and now a little shy, perhaps (rightfully) afraid of being shot down, so she replied with amusement.

"I laughed because my boyfriend tripped on the stairs. He was looking at his phone the whole way up."

He absorbed that (she watched carefully for looks of disappointment but he was either very good or had already guessed it) and grinned, looking like he was trying very hard not to chuckle. "I hope he's alright." He didn't sound incredibly sincere.

Lydia glanced to her right at Jackson for a mere moment before turning back. "He'll live," she replied dismissively, allowing a small smile at him.

They stopped talking after that, because the golden-eyed stranger became very involved in the game, hooting at random points and flailing his arms like an idiot, and Lydia rolled her eyes every time, at least until Jackson muttered under his breath "what a fucking moron" when the stranger let out a particularly loud " _whoo_!" and she started smiling every time he did instead.

Lydia went back to boredom besides that, at least until she glanced up at the big screen and realized her face was on it. Her jaw dropped.

She and Jackson were on the Kiss Cam.

She immediately turned to her boyfriend, feeling the weight of thousands of eyes on them. "Jackson, look!" She pointed frantically at the screen.

"Not now, Lydia," Jackson muttered, typing furiously on his phone.

Lydia felt her face heating up as she tugged on his sleeve. "Jackson, look, we're on camera, we're on the K-"

"I said not now," Jackson ground out, ripping his arm out of her grip.

She stared at him for a moment, affronted. Out of the side of her eye she could see the camera still on them, and a few boos from the crowd.

Lydia felt a frown curling on her face. Lydia Martin was not a loser. She was not going to be denied a kiss on national television. She absolutely needed this to be perfect because the stranger had been right, Lydia Martin _was_ perfect and she deserved nothing less -

Wait. The stranger.

She turned her head around and saw him watching them, gaze curious.

She tilted her head at him, eyebrows raised. It took him a few moments, but then he got it and his eyes widened almost comically. "Me?" he mouthed.

And Lydia shrugged and nodded because, well, he was cute, and she could stand to kiss him for the sake of her reputation. So she leaned in and he sat stock still until their lips met and the crowd went absolutely _wild_.

She didn't really care about Jackson's reaction, which was admittedly a large reason she had gone into this in the first place, because suddenly she was overwhelmed with the soft and warm feeling of his lips on hers. He was timid at first, merely meeting her lips in a closed-mouthed, sober kiss, but she pushed further, hands moving to grip his shirt front, and he suddenly came alive.

One of his large hands curled around to caress her cheek and suddenly his kiss was more bold, his head tilting to kiss her more deeply, and he tasted vaguely like peanut butter and chocolate which meant he'd eaten a Reese cup and dammit Lydia _loved_ Reese cups. Wanting more, one of her hands slid up to pull his cap off so she could thread her fingers into his thick hair and he made a sort of quiet, desperate sound in the back of his throat.

She was aware of the kiss escalating into something more passionate- and yes, there may have even been a little tongue involved, and she would have been pleasantly surprised at how skilled a kisser he was had she been clear-minded enough to have coherent thoughts.

Rattled, she finally pulled away from him, and the sound in the stadium was thundering applause. Dimly now she could feel Jackson tugging at her shoulder but she ignored him for the moment to examine the man in front of her.

The stranger she'd just kissed on national television looked ravished, pupils dilated and mouth flushed perfectly red, and his dark hair that she had revealed was messy from her hand raking through it. He also looked shocked.

She tried to school her expression into something as cool and collected as possible, coyly placing his cap back on his head and turning away to smile sweetly at Jackson, who was red-faced as a tomato.

"You can drive _yourself_ home," was all her (ex) boyfriend could manage angrily before he stood abruptly in the stands and made his way out of the bleachers. Lydia smiled at his departure. The man had a nice ass, but then again that was all he really had to his character.

Someone cleared their throat behind her. Slowly she turned back to the stranger, her face as much an indifferent mask as it could possibly be. The truth was she felt shaken by what had just occurred- maybe the crowd had already forgotten, but she _couldn't_. It was that good.

He looked very much unsure and awkward, clearing his throat. "So… um… that was-"

Oh, fuck it. Lydia deserved this, and she was intrigued by him. "Great."

He looked shocked, mouth opening slightly.

"In fact, you should take me out to dinner," she suggested, scooting closer. When he seemed unable to respond, she leaned forward, "but first, tell me your name." When he still didn't respond, she felt herself waver. Maybe she'd read him wrong. Oh, god, maybe he _had_ someone already… "Unless you don't want to?" It ended out sounding like a question.

He snapped out of it then, blinking rapidly. "What? No, no of course I do. Of course I'll, ah, take you out, oh my god, I'd be crazy to say no, do you like Italian?"

She placed her hand on his and he shut up immediately, looking down at their joined hands like he couldn't believe it.

"I can't shut up sometimes, sorry Lydia."

She stared at him and he backtracked.

"Unless your name isn't Lydia? I'm sorry, I just assumed because he was calling you that, but maybe that's not your real name and he was saying it to piss you off or-"

She cut him off. "My name _is_ Lydia. I was just a little… surprised you were paying attention."

He flushed. "Yeah, I guess that's sort of creepy."

She smiled at him. "It's cute. Now tell me your name."

"Right." He straightened up and grinned unabashedly now, hand outstretched in front of him formally, and Lydia held back a giggle as a cough. She had a feeling this was the beginning of something _great_.

"Nice to meet you, Lydia. My name is Stiles, and I think you're beautiful and perfect so would you like to go out with me?"

And all she could do was nod.

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 **A/N:IDK what this is, tbh lol, but I hope you enjoyed and will consider leaving a review so that I can LOVE YOU FOREVER. 3 I hope it was sufficiently fluffy. And I'm arrowcave on tumblr!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Got a request on tumblr for a part 2 of this, I was like why not. so here ya go! :)**

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Half an hour later, she was starting to rethink the notion that this was a good idea.

It wasn't that he- Stiles, what a weird name- was turning out to be an asshole, or anything- just the opposite. He was a real gentleman, and he was just as adorable and smile-y as he'd been the entire evening. But that was what concerned her.

After the Mets game, she'd realized that she had no ride home- Jackson had as per usual been a total dick, drove off in his Porsche, and left her stranded. Stiles seemed to pick up on that and offered her a ride.

So here she was, sitting in his crappy little Jeep, and he was driving, and she was glancing at him frequently, internally freaking out. She had made out with and was now going home with a stranger. What if he was a serial killer? Serial killers were often very charismatic, unassuming, charming people, Lydia knew, and Stiles certainly fit that bill for her. Should she actually have him bring her home or should she get him to drop her off somewhere public- at least then she could call Jackson to pick her up, which would certainly be humiliating but Jackson, while he was a dick, was at least not a serial killer so-

"What are you thinking about?" His voice broke into her thoughts.

She glanced at him, pursing her lips. She knew on the outside she looked cool and collected. "Nothing."

He tapped his hands on the steering wheel, not taking his eyes off the road. "So where to?"

Public place. Right. "Let's go for dinner right now," she blurted. A restaurant would be a safe public place to get her shit together.

His eyebrows drew together at her words. "Are you sure? I kinda wanted to take you someplace nice. I'm not really dressed right now for what I had in mind."

She was curious despite her reservations. "What did you have in mind?"

He smiled, finally glancing at her. "It's a secret." He winked.

She smiled back, trying to ignore the stupid butterflies that ignited in her chest at his words.

"But," he continued, reaching one hand up to tug his baseball cap lower over his forehead, "if you're hungry, I- I know a little place that's open late." He sounded nervous.

"Do you."

"Yeah." He bit his lip and took a deep breath before continuing. "It- It's not a real posh place, you know-" he waved his hand around aimlessly, "and I'm sure you're used to going to really nice places, with your, um, ex-boyfriend," the word hovered in the air for a moment but Lydia didn't correct him so he, bolstered, carried on: "So you might really hate it, I don't know, but I love this place and they have the _best_ nachos, I swear." It ended more like a question.

"Are you saying I'm snooty or something?" Lydia asked, highly amused by his flustered speech.

His gaze tore away from the highway again, eyes wide in distress. "No! No, I'm not-"

She was laughing now. "I get it."

"No, you don't," he replied vehemently. "I- I just think you deserve the best."

"Why? Because I'm beautiful and perfect?" she teased, but feeling oddly touched.

He laughed a little, broad shoulders relaxing a little. "Yeah, that's it. So- you wanna go?"

She examined his hopeful expression. Oh, what the hell. If he was a serial killer, he'd had plenty of opportunity to murder her already. "Yes."

His answering beam was brighter than the headlights of his fucking Jeep.

* * *

"Bowling and nachos," Lydia said drily. " _This_ is what you had in mind."

They were sitting at a table next to the bowling alley part of the diner, where they'd already picked up shoes and were getting ready to start playing.

Stiles pointed a nacho at her accusingly. "Hey. Don't diss the nachos. Aren't they good?"

She shrugged theatrically, allowing her eyes to travel over his form in the low light that the diner provided. He'd ditched the baseball cap, which she sorely missed, but his dark hair was sticking up every which way after he'd run his hands through it repeatedly, which made up for it. He'd taken off his Mets jersey as well, revealing a maroon sweatshirt on a torso that was much more toned than she'd originally thought. And she privately thanked all the circumstances of the evening that led her to be able to visually peruse his forearms, and long-fingered hands drumming a tattoo on his jean-clad thigh. "Very good," she agreed, but she really wasn't talking about nachos.

He was oblivious to her very noticeably checking him out. "Wanna play?" Oh, she definitely did.

"Just so you know, I don't bowl very often," she said offhandedly, standing to examine the bowling balls on the stand.

He blinking a few times before replying. "Really? Well, I'm not exactly a champion either, so we're even." He smiled at her. "It'll still be fun."

She was pleasantly surprised. Most guys would boast how they would go easy on her or something condescending like that. She was liking this Stiles guy more and more by the minute.

"Why don't you take the first turn," he added, "And I'll go get us some drinks." She nodded and he scrambled off to the bar, where there appeared to be a long line up.

When Lydia was done her turn, she settled back at the table, writing and deleting several drafts of texts to send Jackson. She needed to talk to him at some point, she knew, but she didn't know what to say to him. In the midst of her thoughts, a different ringtone went off and she jumped, looking for the source.

Stiles had left his phone on the table- the screen was lit up.

Lydia never thought of herself as a snoop, but she couldn't help but be a little curious. She hardly knew anything about him yet. So she peeked at his phone's display.

The caller's photo was displayed on the screen, and she was a drop-dead _gorgeous_ girl, Lydia noted; long dark curls, high cheekbones and an adorably dimply smile paired with friendly brown eyes. The caller's name was listed simply "Ally".

Maybe she was related to him, Lydia thought with desperation. But she knew that wasn't quite right. They didn't really look similar at all. She had to face the facts: Stiles knew a beautiful girl that he was apparently on friendly enough terms to call her "Ally" and suddenly she felt a little incompetent, like seriously how could she complete with a _supermodel_?

Stiles chose this moment to come back to the table. "Who's calling?" he asked brightly, blissfully unaware of her inner dismay.

She held up his phone. "Ally," she said flatly, and she barely restrained the note of bitterness that wanted to enter her tone.

He took the phone from her just as the call ended. "Oh," he frowned. "Oh well. She'll call again if it's important." He threw his phone back on the table and smiled at her.

That was it. She couldn't help it. Aiming for casualness, she said, looking down at the nachos, "Who is she?"

"Who, Ally?" Stiles said absentmindedly, reaching for another chip. "That's Allison. She programmed her name into my phone like that. Thought it was funny or something. 'Ally', as in friend. Get it?" He shook his head fondly.

She merely pursed her lips in response. He continued on, after chewing and swallowing.

"We met through Scott. He's my best friend," he told her, almost proudly. "Allison's his girlfriend."

It felt like all the tension had been released from her body. "Scott's girlfriend?"

"Mmhmm."

Oh. Well then. Problem solved, really. She suddenly felt a lot warmer feelings towards the girl. "You should introduce us."

"Totally," he said automatically. "Anyway, I got you a drink." And he slid a diet Coke to her.

She looked at it for a long moment, and then back at him. His smile was shy now, bashful like he'd been back at the game.

He was cute and funny and now she knew he was thoughtful, too. God help her, she could feel herself falling for him by the minute. In any case, she leaned forward to peck him on the cheek. "Thank you," she said primly, trying not to let her feelings show.

He blushed, one hand reaching up to touch his own cheek briefly where her lips had been seconds earlier. "Oh, um, y-yeah." Flustered now, he looked up at the scoreboard. "So did you start t- holy _crap_! You got a strike already?"

She held back a smile at his astonishment. No one knew how well she could bowl but she didn't really mind him knowing, for some reason. "Beginner's luck, I suppose," she replied airily, shrugging.

He was regarding her with a new admiration as he went to pick out his own ball. "That's amazing," he muttered.

She soon found that he wasn't half bad himself, after a few rounds. And while she normally might have toned down her own skill, she felt like showing off today so maybe she got a few more strikes than usual.

And _maybe_ she did it because every time she turned around after another strike, cheeks flushed with exhilaration, he was standing there, looking in complete awe as if she were a goddess standing in front of him and well, a girl could get _used_ to that feeling.

At the end of the night, Lydia had learned several things about Stiles- his last name was Stilinski and his first name apparently completely unpronounceable (he'd refused to tell her what it was), he lived with his best friend Scott and their housemates Isaac and Boyd, he was in school for criminal law, and he wasn't a sore loser at all- after all Lydia had beat Stiles at bowling by a fair amount, but they'd both seen it coming and he wasn't a bad sport about it. If anything, he seemed happier than ever after they'd paid and were walking out into the parking lot, where Kira, Lydia's housemate, was coming to pick her up (Stiles lived in the opposite direction and although he'd offered several times, she refused to make him drive across town to drop her off at this time of night.).

As Kira pulled up into the parking lot, headlights flashing, Lydia turned to Stiles and opened her mouth.

He beat her to it, suddenly looking anxious. "Wait," he said. "Did you enjoy tonight?"

She frowned. "Yes, of course."

He licked his lips, nervous. "So do you still want to go on a date with me later?"

She blinked at him in surprise, and he continued.

"The thing is," he rambled, "I know we just met a few hours ago, but I really _really_ like you, like, a lot, but I need to know if you're actually going to call me, or if I should go home and try to forget about you and your pretty hair and your excellent bowling skills because I'm just your rebound guy."

She stared at him as he fidgeted with his hands. Was he really this much of an idiot? "Shut up."

He paled. She rolled her eyes and grabbed the back of his neck, stretched up on her tiptoes, and kissed him on the lips, once, very softly, very sweetly. He responded after a moment, leaning into the kiss but before things got too intense she pulled away reluctantly- she didn't really feel like giving Kira a show.

She rocked back on her heels and examined his wide-eyed appearance. "Listen closely, Stilinski," she said sternly. "You are not my rebound guy. I kissed you on live television because I liked you, and if I'm being perfectly honest, even if Jackson wasn't glued to his phone, I might have chosen to kiss you anyway."

He blinked, looking shocked. "Really?"

She shrugged. She had feelings for Jackson, sure- she always had, that was why they'd been together so long. But tonight, they'd been overshadowed. They'd paled pathetically in comparison to the way she felt when Stiles sent a lopsided grin her way. And she wanted to explore that, because as much as it scared her, it excited her a good amount too.

She wanted a relationship that made her _happy_ , goddammit, and she couldn't even remember the last time she'd smiled so much in one evening as she had tonight.

"Really," she confirmed as she began walking backwards to where Kira was parked. "So you're going to pick me up. Tomorrow night. Italian, you said?"

He nodded mutely.

"Good." She opened the car door, dumped her purse inside, and turned her head to send him one last look. He was still standing there, hands stuffed in pockets, golden eyes illuminated by Kira's headlights. "And Stiles?"

He seemed to find his voice. "Yeah?"

"Wear your Mets cap."

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 **A/N:I hope you liked it. Feedback is appreciated so much, whether as a review here or at my tumblr (arrowcave) Thanks for reading! :D**


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